An Interesting Day
by DinoDina
Summary: Sirius Black, a professional wanderer, breaks down in Remus Lupin's little town. Wolfstar(ish), implied slash, AU, pretty fluffy oneshot. Written for QLFC.
**Written for QLFC Round 3
** **Team:** Wigtown Wanderers  
 **Position:** Beater 2  
 **Prompt:** Wanderer(s), word count limit: 1751-2000  
 **Additional Prompts:** 1\. (word) eulogy, 3. (dialogue) "Sometimes I really dislike you", 14. (quote) "Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud" ~ Maya Angelou  
 **Words:** 1906

Remus's store didn't see much business, other than a few grandmothers and Molly Weasley. He owned and manned a small shop in a slowly developing down, and in his mother's days, business had been booming. But with the addition of a large market across the street, Remus spent his days idle. His mother had been a very busy woman, managing her dying husband's business and raising Remus singlehandedly after becoming a young widow. The store had been overrun in those days, not to the degree of deficit, but more than enough to live comfortably.

His mother was gone as well, now, and Remus, aged 23, was perfect grandson material for his grandmother clientele. He couldn't even try to count how often he'd resisted their matchmaking attempts, because as lovely as he was sure their granddaughters were, he wasn't remotely interested.

But overall, his existence was a dull one—an unnecessarily dull one because he was smart enough to go to uni, just not rich or motivated enough to do it. He'd never even left the country. He'd never even been to London, and that was just a half-day's train ride away.

The furthest he'd ever travelled was a three-hour train ride to his father's home village. Remus had gone with his mother and grandmother, and hadn't understood why they were crying instead of looking out the window. He learned later, when they finally arrived, that they were burying his father.

Aged five, Remus hadn't known Lyall Lupin very well, just that his aunts thought that the death was "very tragic, indeed. Almost poetically so" and that "she won't be able to give the eulogy like that. Look at her blubbering!" He remembered feeling offended for his mother's sake, even if the aunts turned out to be right.

His thoughts drifted to his mother's funeral, the year he had finally finished school, and what a mess _he'd_ been when he'd had to speak, when a small bell announced a visitor.

It was a tall man with black hair that had been windswept out of its ponytail, not much older than Remus himself, dressed in a leather jacket and matching boots. He looked around for a moment, and Remus noticed a small metal stud in his left ear, before finally walking—sauntering—up to the counter.

Remus didn't fault him for missing it the first time around, because it really wasn't much to look at. Neither was he, but that was beside the point. Remus put down the needles and ball of yarn he was fiddling with—and yes, he knitted, but Lily was having a baby in only two months, and that kid was going to have a homemade blanket, even if it killed him.

"Can you point me to the mechanic?" the guy asked abruptly. Remus raised an eyebrow. "It's just that my bike broke down again, and I really don't know what I did this time."

"I'm the store," Remus answered slowly, because a) the guy looked like he would know his way around a bike, and b) if he'd entered the town from the main road, he'd have had to pass the mechanic.

"Don't stores know this stuff?" the punk almost whined. He looked helpless and Remus wouldn't put it past him to stomp his foot.

" _I_ don't," but Remus took pity on him and sighed, before reaching behind his chair and taking his jacket. "Where's your bike, then? Two heads are better than one, even if I'm just the store."

The guy gave him a questioning look.

"Look," Remus was already halfway out the door, "I can either try to help you, or you can tow this to Snape's by yourself. And it's probably going to rain, so hurry up or let me get back to my knitting."

The bike was outside, just like Remus had been told, but it was just about done for. It was pitifully old, and looked like it had been patched up by an amateur. Said amateur had probably been Remus's companion, who was pacing around the ruins and muttering to himself.

"It's done for, isn't it?" the guy groaned. Remus shrugged apologetically. "Ah, that's what I get for trusting Dung. Mind you, Jimmie said not to do it, but what can I do?"

 _I don't know you_ , Remus had the urge to point out. _I don't know if you're supposed to trust 'Dung' or not, or 'Jimmie' for that matter._ But Remus was raised to be polite, even to mumbling punks so instead of saying that, he just shrugged again. He tried not to think about how the guy would get rid of the bike. Would he give it a eulogy and send it off in flames? Or would he just give it off to Snape to be used as scrap metal?

"We became friends, though," the guy continued saying. "Me and the bike, I mean. She's got me this far, and now—you think I can give her an honorary burial?"

Remus didn't know what constituted as an honorary burial, so he just shrugged again.

"Send her off blazing, and all that? Though, I suppose she's got to be working when she's blazing, but we'll figure something out, won't we?" he bounced around to look at Remus, who was ready to shrug again. "You'll say something?"

"It's a bike," he said.

"No, I mean at the funeral," the guy waved his arm, clearly dismissing Remus's confusion. "I will. You know, something along the lines of, 'You were very dear to me, and very close, and even if I sometimes really dislike you—disliked you—you are the first friend I'd ever truly had'."

"You're a madman," Remus shook his head.

"Well, not the _first_ friend," he quickly amended. "Jimmie was the first. And for your information, I'm not mad."

"You're passing through here on a bike that's at least as old as you are, and now you're writing a eulogy to it!" Remus didn't make a habit of pointing out strangers' mistakes to them, but this man had clearly made many. "That's like the punchline to a very bad joke."

"Me? A joke?" the guy grinned. "I'm Sirius. And you know what?" he added before Remus could. "That _is_ a bad joke. How many guys do you think thought they were being funny when they said it?"

"Said what?"

"I'm Sirius Black," he stuck out his hand. "I feel like we got off to a bad start, but hey! Now you have the pleasure of meeting me."

Sirius, Remus decided, was the type of guy who would buy you a coffee on a rainy day, and then drive you back to you door and not even give you a goodnight kiss like a perfect gentleman, and then _bam_! Out would come the ropes, chains, and knives, and you'd soon be a statistic: killed by a madman murderer without ever realizing it—because that was how the guy would do it. Too quickly to be noticed.

But all jokes aside, the bike was done for. In a strange town with no plans or transportation, Sirius decided to remedy the former and announced his next course of action. Said course of action was formulated as follows: 1) go to Evans' Bed and Breakfast, and 2) figure things out after paying. It wasn't the best laid-out plan, but it was a plan, and Remus could work with plans.

Ten minutes later found the two perusing a menu, with the always-lovely Mrs. Evans fussing over the tablecloth, silverware, and Remus, poor dear, who looked very thin, was he eating enough?

Sirius, who found it absolutely hilarious, didn't hesitate to point the mothering out. Remus blushed but shrugged and since the blush was an exclusively biological reaction, paid it no mind and focused on the menu instead.

He didn't want to get anything too expensive, since Sirius had insisted on paying. It was his bike, after all, and he wasn't going to be paying for fuel anymore anyway.

"How will you get about?" Remus wondered.

"I won't," Sirius grinned. "I'll just stay here for the time being. I'll ring Jimmie to tell him, and again if the need arises, but if I'm here, can't I stay here?"

"At the Bed and Breakfast?"

"Or in town—thank you so much, Mrs. Evans, this looks absolutely gorgeous! Look at this, isn't it gorgeous?—there's got to be somewhere," Sirius stared ahead for a second before digging into his plate with every ounce of enthusiasm he possessed. He swallowed. "But I would rather stay here, if you wouldn't mind."

"I'm the store, not the Bed and Breakfast," Remus lowered his voice, "but you might want to find somewhere else; as incredible as the Evanses are, their rates are . . . well, you'd rather not have to pay them, is all I'll say."

"Is there anywhere else?" following Remus's lead, Sirius whispered.

"No other hotels or anything of the sort, no," Remus replied. "You could find someone in need of a tenant, but we're a pretty small town. Although that might be right up your alley, considering that you're a—what did you say you were?"

"Professional wanderer," Sirius plugged in eagerly. "Well, _aspiring_ professional wanderer."

"How can you be an aspiring professional?" Remus wanted to know.

"The same way you can be a professional wanderer," Sirius paused for effect (or just to take a bite of Mrs. Evans's pancakes). "Break all the rules. Wandering's based purely on fate, isn't it? So how can it be a profession that you get good at? How can you be an aspiring professional? You hope for the best and do _your_ best."

"You should be a philosopher."

Remus would much rather his companion _wasn't_ a philosopher, because he feared that the guy would be absolutely insufferable. Sirius was already insufferable, but in the way that puppies and small children are: adorable, hyperactive, and with way too much time on his hands. He hoped that there was enough sarcasm in his statement to dissuade Sirius from pursuing the profession.

"I'd rather be a wanderer, thank you," Sirius said when his plate was empty, just as Remus resurfaced from his thoughts. Remus wasn't sure if he was a slow thinker or if Sirius was a fast eater. "And who's looking for tenants? Philosopher or wanderer, I'd like a roof over my head, especially since it's raining now."

"It's always raining," Remus pointed out. "You'll have to get used to it if you're staying."

"Oh, I'm staying," Sirius breathed. "Just look at that!"

He pointed outside. It wasn't much to look at. The same old streets, the same old buildings, everything just a tiny bit more miserable because it was wet. But when Remus actually followed the finger, he noticed that it wasn't the town Sirius was pointing at. Just at the horizon, over a crest of trees, was a clear spot in the sky, half of it covered by a rainbow.

Remus liked rainbows. He'd liked them since his mother told him, "Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud."

His mother had read the words somewhere, quoting them so often Remus considered them her philosophy and not the original author's. He'd underestimated rainbows then, had underestimated them until he saw the shine in Sirius's eyes.

He'd try to be the rainbow in Sirius's cloud, Remus decided—if Sirius would take him—quickly offering, "I've got a spare room."


End file.
